


the best in me

by brokke



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Episode Fix-It: s02e13 Exit Wounds, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Owen Harper and Toshiko Sato Live, none of it is explained i'm just here for the hugs, owen lives in every sense of the word, which is very valid of me tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26651815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokke/pseuds/brokke
Summary: Tosh survives a bullet. Owen picks up the pieces.
Relationships: Owen Harper & Toshiko Sato, Owen Harper/Toshiko Sato
Comments: 23
Kudos: 47
Collections: Hold Me: A Comfort Prompfest





	the best in me

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt 'Torchwood: Exit Wounds happens up to a point, but Owen escapes the reactor before it goes critical and arrives in time to save Tosh's life and comfort her' by rachelmanija on dreamwidth.  
> i don't yet have a dreamwidth account but i loved the prompt too much not to write something (i did ask via an anon but i hope that's ok!)

Owen's hands never shake.

Not in surgery, not on the grip of a pistol; he'll brush off his worry, take a breath, and his hands are as steady as ever. No matter where his mind lies, they'll always know what to do. Have done since medical school. They'll move with precision and resolve, whether he's saving a life or taking it.

Today, though - today they tremble. 

Blood spills between his fingers as he presses them down, forcing himself to press harder even though he knows it hurts. All he can think to do is keep his grip on her fragile form and listen to her breathing grow more shallow by the second. Owen swallows, forcing calm. Now is not the time to panic. 

Now is no time at all.

All he sees is _her_ , lying in the rivers of her own blood. The seconds pass with clarity, yet Owen is frozen to the spot, every instinct screaming out to hold her. He feels the tremble reach his chest, encompassing his body in a shiver.

A warm hand on his. "Owen..."

"Shush." His voice shakes, too. He's one breath away from tears, but that would be a failure. "Fuck, Tosh, I'm sorry-"

"It's okay." She barely speaks loud enough to hear but finds the strength to smile. "You're alive."

"Yeah." The tears arrive with force. "Yeah, I'm here..."

She squeezes his hand with hers, putting what little strength she has into the touch. It stills the shaking just enough to clear his mind, as if she were comforting him, when it should be the other way around. 

"You don't get to do this," he says. "No. Not like this."

"And I won't." The words are soft at the edges.

"Yeah." He swallows. "Yeah, no. You're not going to." Without moving his hands, he wipes at his eyes with his arm, clearing his throat and feeling for that familiar steadiness. Every time he sees Tosh's face the wave of fear returns, unable to focus on what he should do when it's her beneath his hands, _her_ cold bleeding out on the stone floor - but Owen won't let it win.

* * *

In an ideal world, they'd be back at the Hub.

Today isn't ideal.

She's shockingly pale, sunk in sheets and smaller than she's ever been before. Owen can't look at her for more than a moment until the sensation of blood returns, the heat of it clawing at his wrists; he presses his hands together, willing it away.

Because Tosh is alive, and that's all that should matter.

He takes in the room around him - medical equipment takes up half of the space, offset by floral paintings on the stark white walls of a private clinic. It's for their safety, Jack had said. Hospitals outside the NHS are more willing to remove the records of treating a Torchwood agent, and as an unrelated second perk, far easier to bribe. It's quieter here, too; the near silence is disconcerting to him in a way a normal hospital hasn't been for years. No matter how much he tries to reassure himself, nothing allows him to relax.

Maybe it's the lack of noise. Maybe it's Tosh in front of him in a drug-fuelled sleep.

There's a clock on the opposite wall, telling him it's late morning. He blinks, tries to remember how long it had been since he'd slept himself. As if he would when she looks this breakable.

"What are you doing here?" says a voice, and it almost startles him; he hadn't noticed she was awake. She's barely awake, though, with half-open eyes and a haze to her voice.

Owen doesn't answer straight away. He searches for the words to describe what he feels, and realises there are none. "'Course I'm here," he says, dismissing her doubt. Why wouldn't he be?

She smiles despite it all. "Thanks."

"Yeah." He glances away.

"I mean it." She tried to move, pushing herself upwards a little, and stifles a groan at her efforts. "Glad I didn't- _ow._ Wake up alone."

He stands and moves closer, holding out a hand that's useless against her pain. Owen knows, logically, there's nothing he can do but watch her heal, but that doesn't stop him wishing there was more. "Alright?" he asks, wanting to pull the pain from her eyes, to make everything okay.

"Yes," she breathes, the word catching in her throat. "Fine. Just..."

Tosh reaches out her hand and he reaches back. They touch as gently as they can, Owen's finger moving absently over her knuckles. 

She speaks after a moment. “Are you alright?"

"Me?" He almost laughs. "I'm not the one with a bullet hole."

"You know what I mean."

He sighs, pressing his other hand on hers. "Yes, Tosh. I am now."

"And the others?"

"At home. They're safe."

"Are they okay?"

"Yes. Promise." 

Tosh swallows. It's her turn to look the other way. Part of Owen wants to shout, to draw her back to herself. It's not like he doesn't understand how it feels to worry; out of all of them, she's the one who deserves to think of herself before the rest of the team. A hole in the chest will do that.

It's as if Owen only has eyes for her. Doesn't take him long to realise why.

Nothing like a near-death experience, he thinks, to give you a bit of bravery - he fights the doubt in his gut for a short moment, giving in with a slight rush of something familiar. Owen moves to sit next to her, leaning into the pillows as he balances on the edge, kicking off his shoes as an afterthought.

"By all means, join me," Tosh says, and Owen can't help but chuckle.

"That chair will kill me sooner than a nuclear meltdown."

She gives a weak laugh, hiding the pain with little success.

Owen squeezes her hand.

Tosh closes her eyes and they sit in comfortable silence, filling the space like they were meant to share it. The late morning sun makes an appearance, its warmth almost putting his mind at rest. Almost.

He hears Tosh's intake of breath before she speaks. "Tell me about the plant."

"Hm?"

"Well. You stopped a meltdown." She shrugs as best she could. "That must feel good."

He frowns, running through the timeline in his mind. It feels like it just happened, and at the same time, a distant memory. "I haven't thought about it since I did."

"Why not?"

Owen wonders how she doesn't realise. He's never been one to communicate well, but how can Tosh not know that she takes up every corner?

"You did get shot," he replies.

"I'm still processing that myself."

There are words on the back of his tongue; they've been buried in his chest for so long, brought to light by the feeling of her fading under his hands. As he hears his heart in his throat, he knows those words will bleed out like her gunshot wound. Hot and uncontrollable.

"I want to talk about this," Owen blurts out, before a part of him can stop them. He glances over to see Tosh's reaction, but she takes a moment to respond; she blinks slowly and the seconds drag out.

"Hm? What?"

"This." He clears his throat before gesturing between them. "Us, I mean. Our..."

"The date?"

His heart jumps when she says it, despite the loose slur to her words. "Yeah."

When she turns her head to meet his eye, her smile is contagious. "Now?"

He shrugs.

"I'm barely coherent, Owen," Tosh says, but the smile remains.

He nods and gives a small laugh. "Yeah. Bad time. They've got you on the good stuff."

"So good." She looks back at the ceiling, breathing hard from the exertion before she speaks. "I want to, too. I really do. But let's just... stay here. For now, at least."

That doesn't sound too bad. "Yeah. 'Kay. We'll talk later.

She nudges his side from under the covers. "Hell of a first date."

He doesn't return the touch, but responds with a laugh. "I'll find something non-alcoholic to celebrate."

"Shame," Tosh sighs. "I'd kill for some Proseccio."

"What now?"

"Doesn't matter."

He notices her words losing their edge, her eyes dropping into sleep. As much as he wants to keep hearing her voice, he'll be glad when she rests.

"How are you feeling?" He asks.

"You don't need to keep asking that."

"It's in my job description, Tosh. Literally."

"It's cold. A bit."

He moves as close as he dares, turning onto his side and wrapping an arm around her middle, the part not covered in tubes and dressings. Making sure the blankets are pulled tight, Owen presses himself to her side. Tosh responds with a small movement, burying her head into the space underneath his chin. She sighs and lets her eyes close.

From this angle, Owen can see the dial on the radiator on the opposite wall, turned up to max. Even in her state, she had to be feeling it too.

"It's not cold, is it?" He asks.

"Nope," she smiles.

* * *

When Gwen finds them both asleep that afternoon, she rearranges the blankets and doesn't say a word. 

**Author's Note:**

> fyi to anyone who hasn't heard it: 'proseccio' is a reference to Dinner and a Show, i didn't just misspell prosecco


End file.
